


Take me away

by fromthedeskoftheraven



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, F/M, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Sex, Kissing, Nudity, Stress Relief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 14:00:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6155935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthedeskoftheraven/pseuds/fromthedeskoftheraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin cheers up his wife after a stressful day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take me away

A dull ache had begun to throb behind your temples as you trudged through the halls of Erebor toward the royal chambers. 

Only three weeks remained until the beginning of the summer festival – its name unpronounceable to your human tongue – that would be a ten-day-long celebration of the joys of hard work and the drinking of ale, and in only your third month as Erebor’s Queen consort, you had seized the chance to make yourself useful in your new community by volunteering to organize the entertainment for the festival. Now, however, as you made your way home from another planning meeting, you cursed the day that had ever seemed like a good idea.

No one could seem to agree which musical selection was most appropriate for the ceremonial sampling of the season’s first brewing of ale. One elderly dwarf clung indignantly to the notion that his own lengthy ode to the creation of the dwarven race should be read aloud to open the festival, despite being rather rudely shouted down by the rest of the committee. The troupe of actors who were to perform a short play on the last night of the festivities were bickering amongst themselves over roles, and your attempt to calm troubled waters had been met with pointed comments from the troupe’s leading man about _some persons present_ having a regrettable lack of understanding of dwarven literature.

Reflecting spitefully that most of the revelers would likely have sampled too much ale to be concerned with the finer points of the actors’ craft, you banged through the door into your sitting room, muttering under your breath. “’…I would remind you, my lady, that I was performing that role before you were born,’ well, I’m old enough to know a pompous… _cabbagehead_ when I see one, sir,” you grumbled, flinging yourself onto the settee to stare morosely at the ceiling.

“Strong language, my love,” came an amused voice. You quickly sat up to see Thorin leaning against the frame of the door that led into his study.  


“I didn’t know you were here,” you said, abashed.  


“I knew you would be returning soon, so I brought some letters home to read,” he answered, coming to sit beside you, lifting your legs to drape them across his lap. “I take it the meeting was not a success?” he asked sympathetically.  


“It’s all a mess, honestly,” you admitted. “No one can agree on anything, and I may as well not even be there, no one listens to me.”

His expression turned stern. “Perhaps I should attend one of these meetings, to see that my Queen is given the respect that is her due.”

“I can’t have you coming to defend me, it will only prove that I am out of my depth,” you insisted. “I shall just have to keep on and hope for the best…and likely need a very large mug of ale, indeed, by the time the festival begins,” you said wryly, reaching with your thumb and forefinger to rub your temples.

Thorin watched you for a moment as he rubbed his hand encouragingly over your knee, a mysterious smile beginning to curl his lips, then said suddenly, “come with me.”

“Where?” you frowned.  


“Just come,” he urged you, still with that smile.  


Your curiosity was piqued further when he carried two towels rolled up under his arm as you walked through a close, twisting passageway you’d never seen before, leading you deep within the Lonely Mountain.

“Isn’t it a bit chilly this evening for a swim?” you wondered.  


“Not where we’re going.” His expression was beginning to verge on smugness, and you became more and more bemused as you followed the winding corridor.  


The passageway narrowed still more before finally leading you into a small grotto carved into Erebor’s depths, in which stood a rounded pool, at least three times the size of the large bathtub in your suite. Miniature waterfalls trickled down the rough granite into the pool, shimmering in the light of the torch Thorin had placed into a bracket on the wall. The water was clear and undulating with ripples that radiated outward from the waterfalls, and, to your surprise, wisps of steam curled upward from its surface. Curiously, you went to the edge and dipped in your hand.

“It’s warm!” you marveled, and Thorin nodded, with a grin.  


“It is fed by a hot spring, within the heart of the mountain,” he explained, already peeling off his tunic to expose his broad, chiseled torso, dusted with dark hair and scattered with scars earned in battle. He quickly shed the rest of his clothes and sank into the pool, immersed to his chest, trailing his arms back and forth in the water. “Join me,” he beckoned.

“What if someone comes?” you hesitated.  


“No one comes here,” he assured you. “In ages past, this place was reserved for the use of the King and his family. There are few alive who know of its existence.”  


Satisfied as to your privacy, you eagerly pulled off your shoes and stockings. Kneeling by the edge of the pool, you turned your back to Thorin, looking over your shoulder to ask, “help me?” He shook the water from his hands and reached to carefully unfasten the column of small buttons that traced your spine, trailing his fingertips affectionately over the bare skin of your back as the dress eased open and slipped from your shoulders.

You lay your gown aside, soon joined by your underclothes, and had paused to gather your hair into a loose knot when you noticed Thorin watching you with the honest, raw, adoring stare that never failed to make your heart skip a beat. There was wonder in his eyes, as though you were the answer to a question he’d been asking all of his life, and, feeling your cheeks warm under his gaze, you asked shyly, “what are you thinking about?”

“You are so beautiful like this,” he said quietly, the rich timbre of his voice reverberating on the stone and making your stomach flutter. “I have seen you adorned with jewels and royal robes, but nothing can match the beauty that is your own, your birthright.”  


Beaming, you slipped into the water and into his arms, your lips meeting his gratefully. With a smile, he led you to one side of the pool where a sort of bench had been hewn into the rock beneath the water’s surface. Seating himself on it, he parted his knees and guided you to sit between them, facing away from him, and pressed a tender kiss to the nape of your neck as his large hands settled on your shoulders and began to knead your stiff muscles. 

His roughened fingers glided over your skin, finding and soothing any hint of rigidity, gently massaging your neck before moving downward more firmly across your shoulder blades, making you sigh as the tension gradually melted away from your body with the warmth of the water and the strength of his hands. By the time he had finished working over the muscles low in your back, his palms resting on your hips as his thumbs traced small circles just above your bottom, you felt pleasantly limp and more relaxed than you’d been in days. You leaned your head back contentedly on his shoulder, letting your eyes fall closed, and he wrapped his arms around you, pulling your back snugly against his chest.

“I am likely to have bad days more often, if this is your remedy,” you murmured, a blissful smile curving your lips as you ran your hands over his muscular thighs on either side of you.  


Thorin’s deep chuckle rumbled, and he dragged his lips softly across your jawline. “I have been waiting for the perfect time to bring you here…though I had hoped your first visit might be romantic rather than restorative,” he said apologetically.

“Who says this is not romantic?” you purred, reaching behind you to run your fingers through the damp locks of his hair, to cradle his cheek with your palm, gently tilting his head to bring his mouth to yours.   


His touch turned caressing, exploratory, as you sighed his name and moved your lips in a slow, yearning dance with his. You broke the kiss to briefly float free and turn around to seat yourself on his lap to face him, feeling his powerful arms encircle you to pull you close against him, his desire evident in his body. Winding your arms around his neck, gathering his hair away from his face, you gave a playful roll of your hips against his, earning a low growl of pleasure from deep in his chest that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Have care what you start,” he warned teasingly, with a cheeky lift of his eyebrow.  


“I never start anything I do not intend to finish,” you grinned in return, leaning to kiss and suckle lightly at his pulse point, his small groan making you smile against his warm skin as his palms on your back clutched you, pressing you closer still. “Thorin, my love,” you breathed in his ear, “will you do something for me?”  


He pulled back to look at you, his face flushed, his skin glistening with humidity. “Anything,” he vowed.

You smirked mischievously, stroking your fingers through his soft beard. “You have made me forget my troubles…now make me forget my own name.”

A slow grin spread over his face, and his eyes sparkled with anticipation as the tip of his tongue emerged to wet his lips. 

“At your service, my Queen.”


End file.
